ROCK HARD (A BRITISH ROCKSTAR BAD BOY ROMANCE)

by Wild, Nikki

  I tried to keep my eyes off of him as I focused on dispensing salads, but we made eye contact right before his ass hit the chair. It’s when he opened his mouth that my knees almost quivered.

  “Hullo, love. Sorry I’m late.”

  His rich English accent was music to my ears. Sophisticated, gritty, and yet somehow smooth, I could practically feel my panties moisten at the very sight and sound of him.

  “Lieutenant Corporal Carlyle, I presume?” I asked, trying to keep my voice straight.

  “In the flesh,” he smiled coolly, watching me with a faint mixture of amusement and arrogance. “Does my reputation precede me?”

  “That, or your name card. I’ll let you decide which,” I indicated politely enough as I handed him a modest house salad.

  “Thank you… Clara,” he replied, preparing to dive into the bowl.

  “Wait. How do you know my name?” I asked. My thoughts went erratic as I watched him glance up, a cruel smile crossing his handsome face. Oh god, does this guy know who I am?

  Dalton merely chewed as he pointed vaguely towards my breasts. I glanced down in confusion. There it was… my silver nametag, pinned against my chest, with my first name spread across in invisible tape.

  “I always forget I have this thing on,” I chuckled nervously. “Anyway, do you need anything else for the moment, before I tend to the others?”

  “Yeah, actually,” Dalton smiled. To my horror, the other Marines at the table started to sigh, some of them smiling at each other and shaking their heads. “Got a menu?”

  “This is a closed-course meal,” I answered mechanically, not liking how they were apparently waiting for something.

  “Well, that’s a shame. I was going to ask for something sweet… Something that would melt in my hands and taste delicious… Can you think of anything you have that might satisfy my cravings?”

  My smiling façade cracked for a second. Who does this guy think he is?

  Dalton continued: “You’d realize what I really wanted… We’d have this great, big laugh and you’d find it really endearing, and in a few hours you’d be fucking me.”

  The Marines burst out in laughter. While one of them smacked the table, I cleared my throat and squared my shoulders up. “Right. Well, if that’s all for the moment…”

  Dalton half-smiled at me. “Lighten up, love. Take a bloody joke. I’m good.” He glanced around the table. “You boys don’t need anything, do you?”

  They all shook their heads, composing themselves, and I drew in a deep, calming breath before turning on my heel… but not before accidentally making eye contact with Dalton again. He was looking at me curiously, his half-smile still plastered across his face.

  What a prick, I thought to myself as I tended to other tables. Dalton was an absolute dick. I couldn’t fathom how I found him attractive at all when he strutted into the room…

  Except, he was always looking at me when my gaze went in that direction. I could feel his smoldering gaze on my back as I raced around, taking care of my guests.

  Soon afterwards, it was time to line up and dispense the main courses to the guests. For the banquet, the organizing party had established sautéed salmon, grilled asparagus stalks, and a hearty helping of garlic red-skinned mashed potatoes. The chefs were running frantic in the kitchen, determined to keep the presentation as stellar and spotless as possible.

  “Move along, ladies! Once this is over, the hard part’s done!” Arnold rang out, quickly making minute modifications to the placement of details against the plates as he swiftly racked up six or seven entrée plates to a large, black, oval dinner tray. His primary foodrunner was helping servers shoulder them between running plates and opening tray stands for us in our sections.

  Unfortunately, the seating meant that we perpetually left a couple of Marines at the tables without food until returning a few minutes later, but they seemed to understand that we were doing the best we could.

  If anything, it appeared that they enjoyed the additional opportunities to watch our asses strut along as we power-walked back and forth across the banquet hall.

  Out of pure self-interest, I left Dalton’s table last in the dropping off of entrees for my section. I could deal with him ogling me after seeing to it that everyone else was satisfied.

  “Is there anything else I can get you gentlemen for the moment?” I asked his table politely, sliding the final entrée plate to one of his seated companions.

  “No, ma’am, I think we’re all good here,” the leader of the table smiled. “That’ll be all.”

  “Actually, there’s something else you can do for me,” Dalton piped up.

  I flashed him a smile, but my eyes said it all.

  “Sure. What can I get for you, sir?”

  Dalton’s whites showed. “Well, I’ve taken a few bites of this, and it’s quite good. It’s missing a little something, though…”

  He patted his thighs under the table.

  “Why don’t you come sit on my lap and give me a second opinion, hmm? Take a few bites. Tell me what can be done to give it a little kick.”

  I’m about to give YOU a kick, you smug son of a bitch, I muttered in my head.

  “That… won’t be possible, I’m afraid,” I hastily but cordially answered.

  “Oh, go on, humor me. I don’t bite. Unless that’s your fetish, that is…”

  I started to grow red.

  “So, you like the biting, huh? Nice little nibble into your shoulder while you’re in the throes of love?”

  The other Marines were snickering again, looking backwards and forwards between us. Only the leader was letting out a sigh, palming his face with his elbow against the table.

  “Lieutenant Corporal Carlyle…”

  “You can bite me too, if you’d like,” Dalton smiled wickedly. “But only if you’re being a bad little girl. And the thing about bad little girls is that, well… they get punished.”

  I swallowed my anger and gave him a curt little smile. As much as I wanted to retort back… I couldn’t let him get to me, particularly not at work.

  “Enjoy your meal,” I replied, turning on my heel and strolling back towards the kitchen. I was done with that jackass.

  “Actually, I could use a little salt!” Dalton called after me.

  With an exasperated sigh, I whipped around, snatched an unused shaker from a nearby table outside my section, and slammed it down beside his wrist. To my surprise, he actually flinched, and Marines at surrounding tables looked up from their meals.

  “Your salt, Lieutenant Corporal Carlyle,” I muttered furiously between gritted teeth. “Will that be ALL for you now, SIR?”

  He looked into my venomous eyes with his usual confidence, only tempered now by surprise. “Yes, I believe that will do nicely.”

  “Very well then.”

  I started to pull away when his voice piped up one last time.

  “On second thought…”

  I turned back, staring at his beautifully chiseled face. I didn’t know if I wanted to punch him or kiss him.

  Probably both.

  In that order.

  “Pepper?”

  Taking a second to get myself under control, I reached back out and grabbed a pepper shaker, setting it down calmly.

  “That’s a good girl,” he said before smiling coyly, his hand just barely brushing mine as I stepped away from the table.

  I hated to admit it to myself… but I enjoyed his antagonization. It was a break from the usual hum drum routine. He was effortlessly making my blood boil, but I had to concede that his hot body and total fucking arrogance was kind of exciting for me… what can I say?

  Pissed me off, but it was working for me.

  The rest of the night went off without much of a hitch. Dalton left me alone after my brief snap, although I could still feel his eyes on my back – or my ass, more accurately.

  That’s why I was a little confused when I swung back by a little later on to pick up discarded dishes, only to fi
nd out that half the table had already left – including him.

  Before I could focus on that, our serving team was whisked back away from the chamber so that they could have their little post-banquet award show, or whatever they were doing. All I knew was that the lights were dimmed, the stage was lit up, and we were banned from entering until afterwards.

  We made use of our hour-and-a-half of free time by cleaning up the kitchen. We went ahead and started closing up everything in the hidden corridors – racking up the sodas, cleaning out the tea urns, breaking down refresher tables, cleaning and stacking the small, black, rounded drink trays, cleaning and breaking down our equipment, and generally just willing the night to finish out and let us all go home.

  When the banquet was finally over, we were only barely notified. Most of the Marines disappeared without a word, and we were left with a huge room that needed to be disassembled and cleaned.

  Luckily, the closing sidework went quickly. The other servers were apparently just as anxious to get out as I was, and we quickly scrambled around to rip up the tablecloths, help the couple of maintenance guys roll the closed tables backstage, and rack up all the glasses and silverware.

  We still had an hour of polishing glasses and wiping and rolling silverware to look forward to, but hopefully that would go quickly enough.

  “What a night, huh?” One of my coworkers, Beth, quietly asked. I didn’t know her all that well, but she was one of the friendlier, more down-to-earth servers on our little freelance brigade.

  “Yeah,” I nodded, wiping the sweat from my brow. “That was way more trouble than I thought it would be.”

  “You’re telling me. Seriously, he only scheduled ten of us? What the fuck was Arnold thinking? We’ve never handled more than ten people apiece, let alone three dozen…”

  “He wasn’t thinking,” I grumbled, glancing around to ensure that our boss wasn’t around. “If Arnold’s going to keep stacking us with hotel work, he’s gonna have to figure out how to either pay us better, or put more people in the trenches…”

  “No shit,” Beth nodded. “Tonight was not worth ten freaking dollars an hour. Twelve, maybe thirteen would have been a bit more acceptable…”

  “Preaching to the choir.”

  We shut up and focused on wiping down soaked, steaming drink trays as Arnold pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen area. With his usual air of controlled dignity, he quickly summoned everyone’s attention and clasped his hands together.

  “Excellent job, everybody. The event was apparently a hit, and we can look forward to additional jobs here in the future.”

  Those of us in the room stifled a collective groan. We hated hotel gigs.

  “I hope you’ll all forgive me for the short staff tonight. I had planned additional servers, but I needed to cut an operations costs deal with hotel management. Since we performed to our typical high standards, they’ve agreed to allow the morning staff to handle everything from here... an arrangement that will extend to all future events here. You’re all dismissed.”

  A tired cheer rang out from us all. We had never left a gig early, and all of a sudden Arnold went from incompetent villain to heralded hero.

  The servers began flocking to notify everyone else still in the banquet chamber. Before I could join them, Arnold threw me a meaningful glance, and I reluctantly dragged myself to his side.

  “Clara, we need to talk about your performance for a moment,” my boss told me when all others were out of earshot.

  “What’s the matter?” I tried to sound less exhausted than I was.

  “There’s the matter of your tardiness tonight,” he replied coolly. “That, and I am led to believe that you engaged were in, uh, misplaced banter with one of the guests?”

  “I’m… not following, sir.”

  Was he talking about that ass-hat Marine?

  Arnold sighed briefly. “I’m going to be frank with you for a moment. I don’t know why you were late earlier, and quite honestly, I don’t care. But it pains me when this happens…”

  I braced myself.

  Am I getting FIRED?

  “I knew our crowd was going to be either incredibly polite and restrained, or a bunch of wild animals. Military types tend to go one way or the other. I have it on good authority that you comported yourself with grace tonight, and I wanted to commend you for your professionalism.”

  “I’m afraid I’m still not following.”

  What the hell is he talking about?

  “One of your guests, the, ahem, other tardy party,” Arnold clarified. “A few members of his table apologized to me on his behalf, and another server clarified that he had been engaging in harassment against you. I wanted to tell you that I appreciate your care in representing us under that kind of attention. I hate to put you people in a room with crude animals like him.”

  “Oh. Why, thank you,” I replied awkwardly. I’d already kind of moved past that, and didn’t honestly expect that it would wind up in his ear.

  “Try to not be late again, Clara,” he told me, a sincere smile on his lips. “And thank you. I value your contributions to this team, and I want you to know that you have premiere call for future events. I’ll be adding you to the mailing list when I’m in my office tomorrow morning.”

  The way Arnold handled things was to organize catering or serving events, then blast out an email of the week’s openings every Sunday morning. Premiere call was his phrase for the four or five servers who were able to cherry-pick shifts in advance on Saturday, before the other forty servers had any clue of the coming work opportunities.

  This meant better shift opportunities, and as much work as I could possibly want. It was a distinction for only the most veteran or competent servers, neither of which I thought were particularly applicable in my case.

  “I… thank you, sir. I appreciate this.”

  “Keep up the good work,” he nodded kindly. “Anyway, that’s all. You’re dismissed.”

  With a quick, respectful nod, I excused myself from his presence. What a weird turn, I thought to myself. But it wasn’t all that surprising that he’d taken that attitude. Arnold could be a huge stickler for presentation and rules, but he took care of his crew, and he didn’t tolerate mistreatment of his staff.

  Still, this freed me up for another hour, and I decided to celebrate the occasion. While walking to my car, I thought of the bar just down the street. I’d been a few times and liked it, even if they had the occasional shitty bartender.

  With a small grin on my face, I quickly changed into a shirt and hoodie I’d brought along. Figuring the parking was going to be awful, I left for the time being, strolling casually towards the bar with a bounce in my step.

  I had no idea that destiny awaited.

  Arrogant Brit

  Chapter 3

  After ditching the banquet once the food was done, some of my Marine buddies briefly considered strolling to the nearby bar for an after-party. When they all pussied out, I decided to go on without them, prowling around and scoping out the women. I hadn’t been to the local spots in this part of town before, so I was paying closer attention to the details than my usual approach.

  That was how I spotted her.

  It was after my third or fourth round of pool that I noticed Clara stood at the bar, dispassionately pushing strands of her hair back behind her ear. Although she had traded in her waistcoat and bowtie for a jacket and graphic tee, it was still unmistakably her.

  The world smiles down on me, I thought to myself quietly as I casually sauntered that way. There was an open chair beside her, and I was determined to make use of it. So much so that I glared down some greasy snake of a guy who was just placing his hand on the back, eager to sit down beside the little vixen.

  Not today, motherfucker, my eyes subtly communicated. Without a word between us, he got the message and backed off, off to chase other tail.

  “Lousy service, huh?” I asked Clara, leaning against the counter beside her.

&nb
sp; When she glanced up at me, her beautiful eyes were filled with surprise. That didn’t last long, as they quickly turned defensive.

  “Little bit,” she replied coolly.

  I nodded towards the bar. “What are you having? It’s on me.”

  “I’m a big girl. I can order for myself.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” I shrugged apathetically. “Just being friendly.”

  “Just like earlier, right?” she muttered, rolling her eyes. When she turned back, she narrowed them, smiling sweetly at me. “Why don’t you go be friendly somewhere else?”

  I smiled inwardly. The game is on.

  “Prickly little firecracker, aren’t you?” I chuckled. “Sorry to say, I happen to like my women on the sharp side. I thought you could handle it.”

  “Is that so.” Clara glanced over towards the bartender again, growing visibly frustrated. When he clearly wasn’t noticing her, she started looking around – choosing an escape route.

  “Your name was Clara, right?”

  The server sighed. “So you can remember nametags, but you can’t pick up obvious social cues. Why don’t you get lost? I’m way too tired to deal with your shit right now.”

  “My shit, love?”

  “Don’t call me love. I’m not your love.”

  “It’s an English thing, love,” I grinned cockily. “Can’t help it. You have your Sir and your Madam, and I have my guv’nah and my love.”

  Clara gave an exasperated sigh. “This is just my night. One long, miserable banquet, I get some good news and I get to leave early… and now I’ve got this walking fucking stereotype, pulling from the shittiest book of pick-up lines in print…”

  I made eye contact with the bartender, flashing him a look with my eyes. Between that and realizing the girl beside me had been here for possibly ages, he immediately flew over.

  “Whiskey neat, Jameson,” I commanded. “And for the lady… long island iced tea.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Clara glanced up at me with mild amusement. “How’d you know I liked long island iced teas?”